It was at this moment of awkward silence that a low hum, accompanied by a faint vibration, emanated from the shared space between them on the bed.

It turned out to be Qi Fei’s cell phone, dropped in the most inopportune location, ringing out loud. “I love the deep, vast night, I love the nightingale’s song, even more, I love the flower-like dream, embracing the night-blooming jasmine, kissing the night-blooming jasmine…” The melodious ringtone gradually rose in pitch and volume. Wang Zhuo, with a look of mild exasperation, snatched up the phone and held it out to Qi Fei.

Qi Fei was completely defeated by the young man's action; pretending to be asleep was no longer an option. Annoyed, she snatched the phone, stabbed the reject button without even glancing at the screen, then rolled over, sat up, shot Wang Zhuo a cross look, and hurried toward the bathroom.

That glance—partially reproachful, partially angry, yet tinged with shame and embarrassment—left Wang Zhuo sitting stunned, unable to decipher its meaning for a long while.

Qi Fei quickly entered the bathroom, locked the door, and fumbled to pull down her trousers, settling onto the toilet. Immediately, the sound of a rushing torrent erupted, sounding especially loud in the quiet room.

The sound seemed far too substantial, making Qi Fei so mortified she wanted to hold it back.

Wang Zhuo, outside, heard every detail clearly. After a long pause, the lingering sound of dripping water finally ceased. Wang Zhuo couldn't help but smile wryly; it seemed Qi Fei had truly been desperate to relieve herself.

After drying herself off, Qi Fei, blushing furiously, flung the tissue into the wastebasket with force. A glistening, bright thread still clung to her fingertip. Recalling how her legs had involuntarily clenched under the young man’s touch just moments before, and remembering the indecent dream she’d been having, she thought, I’ve made a complete fool of myself.

A large patch of her silk panties was soaked with sticky dampness. Qi Fei’s cheeks burned. She pulled out another tissue, folded it a few times, placed it underneath, and reluctantly pulled her clothes back on.

That scoundrel Wang Zhuo—he was to blame for this. She silently cursed the man, straining her ears to listen.

The living room was silent; she couldn't tell if the little rogue had left. Qi Fei genuinely worried about running into Wang Zhuo if she stepped out. After a moment’s thought, she decided to strip off her clothes and take a shower instead.

He’ll surely be gone by the time I finish bathing, Qi Fei thought with an ostrich mentality, rushing into the shower with her mind in turmoil.

Hearing the shower start, Wang Zhuo felt an immediate wave of relief. At least Qi Fei wouldn't storm out in a rage the moment she pulled up her pants. Since she was taking so long, he assumed she was too embarrassed to bring up the incident.

Little did he know that Qi Fei wasn't thinking about bringing up the incident at all; she was preoccupied with how she would handle him if he decided to launch a night raid.

One feared anger, the other feared pushing boundaries; their starting points were miles apart.

Wang Zhuo had originally intended to give Qi Fei the inner room of the guest suite, but now it seemed inappropriate. Seeing that Qi Fei was actively avoiding him, Wang Zhuo gathered his things and retreated into the inner room.

His phone rang again at that moment. Wang Zhuo picked it up and gave a wry smile—it was Guan Yingying calling again.

“Hello? Sister Yingying?”

“Wang Zhuo, have you reached your accommodation yet? Why did Sister Qi hang up on me?”

“We’re here. She’s asleep, still recovering from the drink. Maybe she just hung up when the phone rang, not quite awake.”

“Oh, then I’m relieved. That cursed Japanese sake—it’s really potent. I looked it up online; the kind I usually drink is cut by bartenders. No wonder today’s batch hit so hard.”

Wang Zhuo murmured a couple of agreements, thinking how lucky he was not to have drunk any; otherwise, disaster might have struck earlier.

“As long as you two are fine, I’ll hang up now.” As soon as she finished speaking, Guan Yingying remembered something else: “By the way, you didn’t take advantage of Sister Qi while she was out of it, did you?”

“How would I dare?” Wang Zhuo chuckled nervously. “Besides, I’m such an upright person, how could I do something like that?”

“Hmph. Is there anything you wouldn’t dare to do? The phrase ‘audacious to the extreme’ isn't enough to describe you,” Guan Yingying said teasingly. “I’ve always thought you looked shifty, like you’re trying to see right through a woman when you look at her. If you’re upright, then China would have no hooligans left.”

Wang Zhuo coughed awkwardly, thinking, So now I’ve become the standard for national morality and the model for ruffians?

After the joking subsided, Guan Yingying gave him a few more reminders about being careful while traveling before ending the call. Wang Zhuo put down the phone and walked up to the mirror, making faces at his reflection, unable to see how he looked shifty at all.

...

The suburban night was utterly quiet; it was that deep hour when the world sleeps soundly.

Qi Fei sat bundled in a bathrobe on the bed, staring blankly at the silent images flickering on the television screen.

How long had it been since a man had touched her body? Long enough that even she couldn’t recall clearly. That face, which had shifted from affection to loathing, was now a blurred memory, as distant and ethereal as something from a past life.

A soft snore drifted from the inner room; the big boy was fast asleep. Wang Zhuo’s roguish, smiling face surfaced in her mind, violently repelling the detestable face, refusing to merge with it.

Qi Fei let out a soft laugh. These two felt like they belonged to different worlds, with nothing in common. If she had to find one similarity, perhaps there was only one: both had once stirred her heart—one in the past, and one in the present.

The past one was elegant in conversation, witty, mature, steady, handsome, generous, offering sweet words and eternal vows. The current one was spontaneous, reckless, rough, impulsive, not particularly eloquent, like an unripe green plum.

However, this green plum possessed something the former lacked entirely: a man’s sense of responsibility.

Her thoughts churned, filled with emotion, finally dissolving into a low, lingering sigh. The gap in their ages dictated that this love was misplaced. She would simply bury it deep in her heart and let time slowly wear it away.

...

Blue skies, white clouds, clear waters, and brilliant sunshine.

This was Lijiang, Yunnan, at the foot of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain, on the banks of Black Dragon Pool—the place where one searches for a meter of sunlight.

Legend said that at the junction of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain and Bahua Snow Mountain, nestled in a cave on a sheer cliff, the Wind Maiden, who died for love, cursed the mountain god who obstructed earthly couples. She secretly clipped the most brilliant meter of the vast sunlight of love and hid it in this cave. If a couple could bathe in this brief, precious light, they would achieve eternal love.

Whether eternal love truly exists, no one knew, but the entire area was filled with shops, restaurants, and inns named "A Meter of Sunlight." Wang Zhuo and Qi Fei saw quite a few of them.

At dawn, they admired the Danxia landforms; at Qiangui, they observed the peculiar geology. The horse trail on Liming Mountain was so narrow that it could only accommodate one person or one horse, with a precipitous cliff and a hundred-foot abyss beside it. At dangerous spots, Qi Fei quietly clung to Wang Zhuo’s back, feeling completely secure and at peace.

“Is this the Lover’s Pillar? It should definitely be called the Man’s Pillar!”

Wang Zhuo pointed at the towering rock formation that so closely resembled a male erection, joking mischievously.

“The artistry of nature is truly divine and uncanny.”

Qi Fei raised her camera, framing the grimacing Wang Zhuo and the Lover’s Pillar together.

The path up Qiangui Mountain resembled a collection of overlapping turtle shells; walking on it meant a risk of twisting an ankle or falling with every step. Coming down, Wang Zhuo was carrying Qi Fei, who had sprained her ankle. In a sudden fit of playfulness, she breathed hot air near his ear, instantly making his steps light. The two tumbled down together, rolling like gourds.

The mountain road here curved eighteen times, and the water of Lugu Lake was clear and blue. Drifting on the lake in a zhuzao boat, the sky was high and the clouds pale; their bodies and spirits felt weightless.

“The scenery in Dali in March is magnificent; let’s go sing by Butterfly Spring.” Unfortunately, when they passed through, it wasn't the third lunar month of spring, so they missed the spectacular sight of ten thousand butterflies dancing.

Cangshan Mountain, Erhai Lake, and the Chongsheng Temple were must-see destinations in Dali. Wang Zhuo searched in vain for any ruins of the Diancang Sect from Jin Yong’s novels, which was quite a disappointment.

“Diancang Sect? I don’t recall that sect existing,” Qi Fei’s knowledge of Jin Yong’s novels only extended to the television adaptations, so her question wasn’t unexpected.

Wang Zhuo smiled and explained, “In one part, Linghu Chong and Xiang Wentian fight masters from various sects on a cliff edge. Two of the masters were from the Diancang Sect. But after they appeared, they only uttered, ‘Diancang’s Twin Swords, their sword energy pierces the sky!’ and then they were written out of the story.”

So, they were just extras. Qi Fei chuckled, then another question arose: “If you had to play a character from Jin Yong’s novels, would you choose Linghu Chong?”

In her view, Wang Zhuo’s candor, passion, and impulsiveness were strikingly similar to the righteous and clear-cut young hero Linghu Chong.

Unexpectedly, Wang Zhuo just grinned, shook his head, and said, “Only an idiot would choose that unlucky kid Linghu Chong; he was unlucky for three and a half of the four books. The ultimate dream for a man is to be Wei Xiaobao, who has three wives and four concubines.”

Qi Fei laughed wryly and picked up the conversation: “So, you certainly wouldn’t be the exception?”

“Yeah—” Wang Zhuo held up two fingers in a victory gesture, waving them slightly.

After resting for a night, the two rose early and headed to the market, planning to buy souvenirs to take home.

The small commodity stalls, reflecting minority ethnic charm, were dazzling and overwhelming. Wang Zhuo squatted down at a booth selling Burmese daggers and refused to leave, thinking every single one was excellent—both beautiful and sharp, impossible to put down.

“If this were in Jiangzhou, every one of these would be a controlled weapon,” Qi Fei felt compelled to remind him, as even buying kitchen knives required real-name registration there, let alone these glinting instruments of danger.

“I’ll buy one to keep in the car; no one will know,” Wang Zhuo teased dismissively.

“Yao Jiaxin thought the same way,” Qi Fei huffed, pulling out her vibrating phone and walking aside to answer it.

The call was from a staff member at the inn where they were staying. After answering, she handed the phone to someone else.

“Little Qi, long time no see. I hear you’re doing well?”

The slightly deep baritone voice, laced with a husky magnetic quality, made Qi Fei’s heart skip a beat; her mind instantly turned to chaos.

“Out shopping with your little boyfriend, are you? I have some things I need to discuss with you privately. Should I come find you, or should you come back right now?”

Qi Fei managed to compose herself. She glanced back at Wang Zhuo, still squatting by the street stall, then turned away, covering the mouthpiece, and said in a low voice, “Whatever you have to say, say it on the phone. I don’t want to see you.” Monthly ticket warning is critical! There are only four hours left, and we are not leading. Brothers who like X-ray Vision, please cast your votes; we cannot capsize at the last moment! X